9 Tales Told in the Dark 17 Read online

  The heat of the dragon’s presence burned him, made his eyes water, his throat dry out, and his skin ache as it began to blister. The dragon merely snorted at his on of his escaped hors d’oeuvres.

  But the passengers screamed at him.

  “Get back here!”

  “You’ll die anyway!”

  “You bastard!”

  “Just let him go!”

  “But what if it’s not enough! We dispersed it between all us. That means we’re four ounces short!”

  “It’ll work,” the bus driver urged. “It has to!”

  And so the driver let the boy run, run as far away as he could, clutching the antidote in his hand. He would take it no long after he found an old culvert to hide form the sight of the dragon in. Though the warmth of the great creature filled the air with steam and the feeling of the hottest day of summer.

  Then he heard the bus drive by, rattling and polluting its way back to the other human survivors. As its noise faded, it was replaced by screams of the passengers.

  The tainted, charred meat.

  Though the dragon fell ill, and slumbered in agony for many weeks, it was still before the smoke that clouded the skies had dissipated that the dragon rose and exacted its revenge.

  The boy survived that too.

  But there was no one else around to blame him. In fact, he was sure the dragon spared him in thanks—at least until he was the last piece of human delicacy in the city.

  THE END.

  MIKEY MIKEY by John Grey

  Grant Toom wasn’t surprised that the front door to the apartment building at 137 Foster was unlocked. Nor did it shock him that, despite there still being daylight outside, the foyer was coalmine dark. He didn’t bother with any switches. And he bypassed the forlorn elevator. It was the stairs or nothing.

  None of the apartments on the first three floors were occupied. Once again, no surprise. Nor were they likely to be occupied any time soon. The building was on course for the wrecker’s ball, no doubt about it. But the fourth floor did have a tenant – Mikey Mikey, the man he had come to see.

  He knocked on the door to 4A. A weak voice from inside informed him, “It’s not locked.”

  He entered warily. The darkness and dust of those first three floors had required some adjusting to and now an eerie green glow mandated further adaptation. As did the figure sitting cross-legged on the floor.

  Mikey Mikey was a small thin man though, by the look of his porcelain pale face and tiny arms and legs, a description of “boy” would have been more appropriate.

  “You’re Mikey Mikey?”

  “The same.”

  The voice was high-pitched and girlish. The term “arrested development” crossed Toom’s mind.

  “My name’s Toom. Grant Toom.”

  Mikey Mikey nodded.

  “I’ve seen your name. You have an office in the Hoey Building. You’re a private detective.”

  “Something of the sort.”

  “You don’t look like a private detective. Where’s your trench-coat? What about the unshaven chin and the bloodshot peepers?”

  Grant caught a glance at Mikey Mikey’s eyes as his head tilted back momentarily and the overhead green light illuminated his entire face. Unlike the rest of him, those eyes were hard as oyster shells.

  Grant tossed a photograph in Mikey Mikey’s direction. It landed in his lap.

  “You know that woman?”

  Mikey Mikey gave the picture a cursory scan.

  “Of course I do. Her name is Jane Willmott.”

  “Do you know where she is?”

  “I do but you wouldn’t believe me.”

  Grant had met up with his share of what he called “freaks” before but Mikey Mikey was something different. For a start, he was used to conversations starting with denial and then, with the help of a little unfriendly persuasion, he’d ultimately get at the truth. Mikey Mikey seemed willing to answer any question Grant put to him. Maybe he figured it was useless to hold out on someone so obviously stronger and willing to put that strength to good use.

  “So tell me what I’m not going to believe.”

  “She’s in here.”

  He pointed to his sunken chest.

  “You ate her?” asked Grant mockingly.

  ‘Nothing as crude as that, I assure you.”

  Mikey Mikey looked as if he hadn’t had a square meal in his life. Grant figured cannibals, if there were indeed such creatures, would be packing more weight.

  “So give me the details.”

  Grant didn’t even bother trying to sound tough. Mikey Mikey, apparently, was more than willing to confess.

  “I just suck the life, the soul, whatever you want to call it, right out of them.”

  “Oh, I get it. You’re a vampire.”

  “Oh please. What I am is so unique that there’s not even a name for me.”

  And how do you do this exactly?”

  Grant cursed himself for not just turning on his heels and leaving. Mikey Mikey reminded him of one of those crackpots who constantly call police stations confessing to murders. But it had been a long day. And Grant was in the mood to be entertained if he couldn’t be enlightened.

  “It doesn’t take much. I just show up at the door of my victim. A touch is all that’s required. It’s like if you accidentally put your hand on a live wire. With one powerful electric shock, I suck their entire life force into me. And once that’s gone, what’s a body to do?”

  He laughed in a high pitched cackle as if he’d made a joke. Grant merely shook his head.

  “And what do you do with the remains”

  “That’s the easy part. With its entire life force gone, the body has no more reason for existing. Nothing more it can do.”

  “So you have a body to take care of?”

  “Oh no. Not at all. Did you know that the body is 60% water? It boils off immediately. The rest is dust and ashes as they say. So light, so minute, they’re easily swept away.”

  “The perfect crime.”

  “Crime?”

  Mikey Mikey was taken aback by such a suggestion.

  “You know. Murder.”

  “Really, Mister Toom, you misjudge me. Nobody dies. They’re just removed from the lives of those who can no longer bear to put up with them. They continue to live on within me.”

  “I think I’ve heard enough. But a couple more things. If Jane Willmott is still alive and pitching camp inside you, why is it you do all the talking? You couldn’t let her speak for herself once in a while?”

  “Oh she’d like that. She really would. That’s what I have to be wary of. Right now, my own life force is strong enough to keep Jane and her ilk out of harm’s way. Harm to me that is. That’s why I never sleep. I must be on my guard at all times.”

  Grant’s response was an unsubtle smirk but the other didn’t seem to notice.

  “Another question, Mikey Mikey. I’ve been hearing your name around town for the past…I don’t know…maybe ten years or so. And yet you don’t look a day over twenty.”

  “Oh yes. My youthful appearance. That’s only on the outside. I assure you that, on the inside, I’m very old indeed. But I have some good years in me yet. You know, I could help you.”

  “By finding Jane Willmott for me?”

  “I told you where she is.”

  “Yeah. You told me all right.”

  With that, Grant did leave. He saw no point in saying goodbye.

  “Why should I talk to you?”

  Dalby Willmott was more like what Grant Toom was used to. By initial eye contact, he was already belligerent. The first words out of the detective’s mouth were slammed back at him like a full-blooded return of serve.

  “Because I’ve been to see Mikey Mikey.”

  Willmott’s doorway king-of-my-castle routine faltered a little at the sound of that name. But then he bolstered himself and resumed his confrontational style.

  “So who’s Mikey Mikey? Isn’t he the kid that used to be in
those cereal ads? Mikey Mikey, he eats everything?”

  “No. Mikey Mikey is the guy you hired to get rid of your wife.”

  “Listen shithead or whatever your name is, my wife has gone missing and I’m very concerned.”

  Grant chose this moment to push Willmott aside and enter the house.

  “You can’t come in here.”

  “I already have.”

  Grant at six foot two and 190 pounds was bigger than Willmott. If there was any pushing around to be done, he’d be the one to be doing the pushing.

  “Nice place.”

  “I’m gonna call the cops.”

  “You know something, they all say that but they never do. It’s a weakness of the guilty.”

  “I know Inspector Morris.”

  “I’m sure you do. He’s one mean sonofabitch. And I bet he’s as certain as I am that you killed your wife. Oh I know all about you, Willmott.”

  Grant moved about the parlor and then into the dining room like he was on a house tour. Willmott followed him. He made no movement toward the phone.

  “And as sure as ceramic ducks don’t lay eggs,” he continued, “you didn’t buy this fancy place with your money. How much older than you is your…was your wife? Three years? Six tears?”

  “Seven if you must know.”

  “Actually I did know. I was just checking to see if you knew. A good-looking boy toy…that was your profession back in the day. And it really paid off. Jane Hobbs, heir to all those Hobbs’ bakeries. Bread and dough. Ironic huh. Something you didn’t have but sure had an itching for.”

  “You know something. I’ve never seen a private detective up close. Just what exactly are you looking for? Clues?”

  “Oh I’m sure the cops have been through this place thoroughly. When do they move in with their heavy equipment and dig up your back yard?”

  “You think you’re funny don’t you?”

  “Wow. You even have a den.”

  Willmott trailed Grant into a small dark-paneled room.

  “My my,” said the detective, “is this where you plot all your murders?”

  “Have you seen enough yet?”

  ‘You know that, without a body, you’ll have to wait a long time before you can collect on the insurance. But as long as you’re in no hurry. Yeah you really lucked out marrying Jane Hobbs. Not quite the same as getting hitched to a brewery heiress but there’s nothing wrong with free buns for the rest of your life.”

  “I haven’t got time for this.”

  “You got a job to go to, Willmott? From what I heard, you’ve been living off your wife’s…what’s the word…moral earnings.”

  “So who hired you anyhow?”

  ‘That’s confidential.”

  “It’s my bitch of a sister-in-law isn’t it? Missy Hobbs. Oh she’s been around here poking her ugly nose where it’s not wanted.”

  ‘You know your wife had good taste. Maybe not in husbands but certainly in interior decorators.”

  Grant, having seen all the downstairs, ascended the steps to the second floor.

  “You can’t go up there!” shouted Willmott.

  “Is there someone up here you don’t want me to see?”

  There wasn’t. But Grant gave every room the onceover anyway. He found enjoyment in irritating Willmott whose demeanor cycled through puffed-up bravado to nervousness to annoyance and then back to where it started.

  “You know what I think,” said Grant as he was about to depart. “I think you heard about this Mikey Mikey loser, how he claimed to be able to make people disappear without a trace. You went to see him. Then, like me, you figured out straight away that he was just a kook. But finally you got in touch with the real thing.”

  “You’re crazy.”

  “No, crazy is thinking you can steal somebody’s life-force right out of their body. I’m just someone with a little more insight into human nature than most. I’ve seen all types. Especially the ones at the lower end of the scale. It’s a downside to my profession. I don’t meet so many good people. I try to be one myself but I always worry that scum like you could rub off on me. I think I’ll go home now and have a nice hot shower. Here’s my card if you want to give me a call at the office, just in case you have a conscience. Let me know the name of the shooter you hired and I can take it from there.”

  Willmott muttered something under his breath.

  “By the way,” added Grant, “Mikey in the old TV ads doesn’t eat everything, he hates everything. There’s a difference. Think about it.”

  The detective left and Willmott slammed the door behind him.

  “A detective came to see you, didn’t he?”

  In Dalby Willmott’s estimation, the weedy figure who sat cross-legged underneath the green light was a more likely target for bullying than “that asshole Toom.” But Mikey Mikey’s voice and bearing didn’t vary from their usual calm.

  “So what did you tell him?”

  “The truth.”

  “You told him I hired you?”

  “Of course.”

  “And that you got rid of my wife for me?”

  “Of course.”

  Dalby was too flustered to be truly angry.

  “How much did he pay you?”

  Mikey Mikey looked slightly aggrieved. It was the closest he ever came to an expression.

  “Pay me? He paid me nothing. Why should I hide what I do?”

  “Well that’s the sort of shit that attracts cops. You think I want cops coming through my place day after day. And as for that asshole of a detective…”

  “Now who’s the asshole here?”

  The voice came out of Mikey Mikey’s mouth but it was higher pitched even than his usual boyish lilt. And it sounded familiar.

  “What do you mean?” Willmott snapped back.

  “You had me murdered.”

  The green light now flooded Mikey Mikey’s face. And it began to swirl like water down a sink so only the thickest color gathered at the middle, centered on his eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” Mikey Mikey suddenly blurted out. “She’s proving difficult.”

  “I don’t appreciate this crap,” said Willmott. “So you can imitate my wife. Big deal. I can imitate Mike Tyson. One uppercut to that pathetic jaw of yours and it’d be all over.”

  Mikey Mikey’s usual serene expression began to fray around the green edges.

  “I’m having trouble holding them all in. Don’t you see?”

  “What are you gabbling about?”

  “The spirits. The life-forces. I can only hold so many in. Your wife was the last straw.”

  “You can say that again.”

  “I’m not like a filing cabinet you know. I can’t just toss the old ones out and replace them with the new. I can’t get rid of them even if I wanted to. Not while I’m still alive. But they want more say in my body. I’m not sure how much longer I can control them.”

  “You really are a lunatic.”

  Mikey Mikey’s head fell to the side but, from what Willmott could make out through the thick soupy green, his mouth remained behind, the lips opening and closing as if something was being said but inaudibly. And, when the words finally did come, they appeared to have no connection with what Mikey Mikey was mouthing.

  “I knew you only wanted me for my money, Dalby. From the first time we met that was as obvious as the coke burns in your nose. But you were a handsome devil.”

  There was no doubt in Dalby’s mind that this was his wife talking. For a horrible moment, he considered the possibility that she might still be alive and speaking to him from another room. But that couldn’t be. The sound was clear and definitely coming from the direction of Mikey Mikey.

  “But look at you now,” the voice continued. “Look at that paunch. And your receding hair-line. You look exactly like the creep you are.”

  She laughed, a high-pitched volley of condescension that struck right at Dalby’s pride.

  “Shut up, you bitch!” he screamed back at her. “I sh
ould have done the job myself.”

  “A coward like you.”

  The laugh was so loud this time, Dalby’s hands jerked up to his ears. So loud, that no one in the room noticed the creak of the stairs as another man entered the building. Grant had been following Dalby on the off-chance he made contact with the real killer. He was surprised that his trail led him back to that crazy man, Mikey Mikey. And then Toom was stunned by what he was hearing. That definitely sounded like a woman’s voice coming from the room with the green glow. Step by step, he risked getting closer to the action.

  “I did it, didn’t I,” Toom could hear Dalby Willmott say.

  “You’ve done nothing. I’m not dead. I’ve just moved on that’s all.”

  “Try telling that to the cops then.”

  Dalby struggled to sound more assertive. The initial shock over, it felt as if he had been dropped back, full-square, into the middle of his miserable marriage. She may have just been sound issuing from an impassive face but it was definitely Jane. And he needed to get the upper hand.

  “Maybe I will tell the cops. Anything to keep your hands off my money.”

  Now it was Dalby’s turn to laugh.

  “They’re going to believe a crackpot like Mikey Mikey.”

  “Mikey Mikey is gone. This is my body now. Mine and all these others. There’s a boy in here. His name’s Brandon. Nobody knew what to do with the little creep. And there’s a couple of abusive husbands. They could come in handy. A Mrs. Cravatt, such a poor sickly thing. She so wanted out of her body and Mikey Mikey granted her that final wish. Oh there’s a lot of us in here but, right now, I’m in charge. I’ll tell the cops a good story, how you came to me because you’d heard I had special gifts for making people disappear. Such a silly idea when you and I know that my best trick is making them reappear.”

  “No matter what you do, they can’t prove anything.”

  “But they can make your life miserable. It will be in all the papers. People will shun you. My estate will be in limbo forever. And if I tell them how you spilled that line to me about how much you wanted your wife out of the way…then who knows. They may decide they don’t even need a corpse to charge you. Better hire yourself a good lawyer, Dalby.”